


Safe Harbor

by comically_so (knobblyfruit), knobblyfruit



Category: Pundit RPF, Pundit RPF (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-06
Updated: 2010-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-18 00:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knobblyfruit/pseuds/comically_so, https://archiveofourown.org/users/knobblyfruit/pseuds/knobblyfruit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Early in their relationship, Anderson has a bad day. Keith takes care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe Harbor

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://dutchtulips.livejournal.com/profile)[**dutchtulips**](http://dutchtulips.livejournal.com/) is a goddess. This would not have gotten posted without her. Title from the song ["Bring It On Home"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wmfi1DxPFvo) by Little Big Town, which is where I got the idea for this fic in the first place.

As soon as Anderson leaves the Time Warner Center, it’s like the headache that’s been a dull throb all day has suddenly been given permission to explode behind his eyes in a flurry of pain. He rubs the bridge of his nose with a frustrated sigh. It’s been that kind of day.

It’s only a short walk to the subway, but as far as Anderson’s concerned, it might as well be all the way across the city. He’s tired and cranky and all he wants to do is fall into bed and sleep forever, but he knows his body, and he can feel the thrum of energy just beneath the exhaustion. He knows he won’t sleep much. Looks like tonight’s the night for watching the backlog of TV that he’s had recorded forever.

He’s halfway to the station when his Blackberry goes off, announcing an incoming text. It’s nearly one in the morning, so there are only a few people it could be. He assumes it’s his mother, which is why he’s surprised when it turns out to be Keith.

>>RECEIVED FROM KEITH OLBERMANN  
Done with work?

>>SENT BY ANDERSON COOPER  
on my way to the subway now

>>RECEIVED FROM KEITH OLBERMANN  
Good timing, then. Want to come over?

Anderson sighs again. They’ve only been seeing each other for a little over a month, and he still isn’t sure if that means Keith really just wants to hang out or if he wants sex. Or both. He feels stupid for needing to ask, so he doesn’t.

>>SENT BY ANDERSON COOPER  
i dunno. rough day, probably wouldn’t be very good company

He hopes that’s a decent equivalent of “not tonight, dear, I have a headache” without being too presumptive. He weaves through his fellow pedestrians as he waits for Keith’s response. It seems to him that it’s taking a bit longer than usual, and he pushes away the sting of disappointment that maybe Keith did just mean sex.

But a minute later his phone beeps again.

>>RECEIVED FROM KEITH OLBERMANN  
C’mon. I’ll order some pizza and I’ve got The Soup on Tivo.

Anderson stops in his tracks as he realizes he forgot to set anything to record that morning, people parting around him like he was Moses and they were the Red Sea. And his brain is screaming, “No cholesterol, bad!” but his stomach is saying, “Yes, please, that sounds amazing.”

He’s fucking tired of listening to his brain.

He hails a cab and gives the driver Keith’s address before it can say anything else.

******

Keith had buzzed him into the building so he probably could have just walked right into the apartment, but he knocks anyway. When Keith opens the door, he looks faintly amused and Anderson smiles back in a way that he hopes doesn’t seem too forced.

It either doesn’t work or Keith knows him better than he thinks he does (he wishes he knew which), because Keith pulls him inside, shuts the door behind him, and wraps his arms around him.

Anderson lets out a shaky breath. It’s too easy to sink into the closeness, to go boneless in someone else’s arms. His head falls to rest on Keith’s shoulder, his face pressed to the thin white t-shirt that probably has the logo to some sports’ team or event on the front.

Anderson hands find their way to the waist of Keith's pajama pants, fingers seemingly tucking themselves in automatically. He just breathes there for a few moments, the throbbing in his head receding to merely background noise.

Keith's arms tighten around him and then there's a kiss pressed to his temple and a soft voice in his ear. "Are you okay?"

Anderson can feel himself tense, knows Keith notices. He gently pulls away and immediately feels like he’s missing something vital. He looks up at Keith through his lashes, a technique that rarely failed in the past to throw people off the trail. "I'm fine, just a rough day, like I said."

He steps around Keith and walks further into the apartment, not knowing he’s heading for the kitchen until he gets there. He hears Keith’s footsteps behind him, but doesn't turn around. He can feel the stare like a brand on his back.

“Pizza should be here in a few minutes," Keith says. “Help yourself to whatever's in the fridge."

"Have any Coke?" Anderson asks as he opens the refrigerator door. He spots the red cans just as Keith answers.

"For you? Always."

It makes him pause for a split second, his hand just briefly hovering over the can as his mind attempts to over think that simple statement. He shakes his head, at himself more than anything, and grabs it.

He turns to face Keith as he pops the can open, leans back against the counter in what he hopes is a convincing facsimile of relaxation. "So. We know how my day was. How was yours?" He offers Keith a real smile this time, letting him know he's genuinely interested.

"Not bad, really." Keith shrugs. He moves to sit on a stool in front the island counter in the middle of the kitchen. "A fairly typical day for me, all in all. Got to yell at a few people."

"What, just a few?" The grin on his face is surprisingly easy.

Keith grins back. "Slow news day."

"Or maybe you just weren't working hard enough," Anderson shoots back. A knot in his belly slowly loosens as he falls back into his comfort zone. This is where he excels when it comes to them, this smooth back-and-forth that attracted them to each other in the first place.

"I never heard any complaints."

Anderson shakes his head with a chuckle, then winces. He rubs his forehead with a palm in a pathetic attempt to make the pain just go away.

"Need some Advil?"

"Huh?" Anderson jerks his head back up to look at Keith.

"You look like your head's about to implode," Keith says gently, and Anderson can feel the lightness of the moment slipping away. It leaves him floundering like a fish out of water and he hates it.

"I'll go get you something," Keith is saying, already moving towards the bathroom. He's just stepped into the hallway when the intercom buzzer goes off. He immediately turns around and heads for the door. "And that'll be the pizza. The Advil is in the bathroom, medicine cabinet," he adds, waving vaguely down the hall.

Anderson watches Keith disappear into the living room, then turns down the hallway himself. The Advil bottle is right where Keith said it would be, and he taps a few caplets into his palm. When he shuts the cabinet door, he sees himself in the mirror and can't help but let out a weak chuckle. His hair is mussed, there are visible bags under his eyes, and he looks paler than usual without the stage makeup. No wonder Keith seemed concerned.

By the time he gets back to the kitchen, Keith is just setting two pizza boxes on the island counter. He smiles to himself, knowing one pizza is gluten-free and one isn't. "You didn't have to get another pizza just for me. I could have –"

"Oh, no," Keith interrupts him as he grabs plates from the cupboard. "I don't force the gluten-free stuff on anyone unless I have to. Besides, your day has been bad enough." He flashes Anderson a grin and hands him a plate.

Anderson can feel his heart stutter in his chest. "Well, thanks, then."

Keith simply waves it off. "C'mon, dig in."

They leave the boxes on the counter and take their plates to the table, along with a bottle of water for Keith and the Coke Anderson had opened earlier. They eat in silence, but it's comfortable and Anderson is glad for it. He knows it won't last long because silence isn't Keith's strong suit, but for now, he's content to just eat in peace.

Sure enough, he's just finishing his first slice when Keith speaks again. "So what happened today that made it so bad?" It's asked nonchalantly, in a way that suggests to Anderson that Keith is genuinely interested but isn't really expecting anything from him. He could just say he didn't want to talk about it and Keith would back off.

But Anderson figures it's his turn to give something back, even if it's just a recap of his crappy day.

He starts with a shrug, not looking up from his pizza. "I missed the subway twice so I missed the first rundown meeting, some information I got from a supposedly trusted source turned out to be wrong, our main interview canceled at the last possible minute, half the script went missing 30 minutes before airtime, I completely spaced on the interview we did get, and the teleprompter was empty for the last five minutes or so, and while I'm usually good at improvising, tonight there was at least 45 seconds of dead air before I finally got with the program." He feels more and more miserable as he goes down the list, not having given himself the opportunity to think too much about it before. And the thing is, that's not even all of it.

He's suddenly no longer hungry.

"Hey," Keith says softly, and Anderson looks up, surprised at the sympathetic tone of voice. Deep down, he knows he's being pathetic, and he'd expected Keith to point that out. He mentally kicks himself – that wasn't fair at all to Keith. He'd been nothing but understanding all night.

But Keith doesn't continue, just looks at Anderson like he's trying to figure out what to say, and it occurs to Anderson that Keith knows exactly what he's talking about. Hell, he's been in live television longer than Anderson has. He's probably heard the old "it's not your fault, your show is fine" line a million times, too.

Finally, Keith seems to realize there's not really anything he can say to make it better, so he just gives Anderson a sympathetic smile and scoots his chair back. "C'mon, let's go watch The Soup."

After they dispose of their plates in the sink and put the leftovers in the fridge, Keith grabs Anderson's wrist and pulls him to the living room towards the couch.

The moment he sits down, Keith tugs him closer. He finds himself too tired to put up a fight when Keith practically manhandles him into lying down with his head in Keith's lap. He feels ridiculous and then feels ridiculous for feeling ridiculous, and the tension slowly leaks from him as he tries to relax.

Keith grabs the remote from the end table and commands the Tivo to play that night's episode of The Soup. Anderson feels Keith chuckling from his belly more than he hears it, and it sends a warmth spreading through him that he certainly wasn't expecting to feel at that moment.

After about ten minutes, the bright TV screen starts to hurt his eyes, and the Advil hasn't quite kicked in yet. He turns his head so he's looking at the ceiling, then decides that's in no way interesting so he just closes his eyes.

Then he feels Keith shift and a moment later there are warm fingers on his forehead, a thumb gently rubbing circles. He sighs into the unexpected touch, and almost like magic, his headache settles somewhat. He suddenly finds it easier to breathe, even though he hadn't realized he'd been having trouble with it in the first place.

Soon enough all that encompasses Anderson's world is a vague voice that must be saying something terribly witty if the laughter is any indication, and that one point of contact on his forehead. He feels okay here, and that's better than anything he's felt all day. The warmth spreading through him has turned into a sort of contentment, and he doesn't remember the last time someone made him feel this way. He can't recall the last time he was with someone and didn't have any walls up to protect himself.

He can't think of the last time he didn't feel like he _had_ to protect himself.

He isn't sleeping when he feels Keith's fingers leave his skin. He doesn't have much willpower left at this point, but it takes every bit he has not to beg Keith not to stop. Instead, he feels Keith running a hand through his short hair, brushing a thumb against his cheek. He almost wants to see the look on Keith's face, but he can't bring himself to open his eyes. He doesn't think he's ready to see what he's fairly sure he'll see.

"Hey, Andy," Keith calls softly.

"M'not sleeping," Anderson mumbles, still not opening his eyes.

Keith chuckles again, and Anderson wishes he were in the mood to really make him laugh. He could use that sound right about now. "I know you're not."

Anderson does open his eyes at that to see Keith looking down at him with an unreadable expression. The TV is silent behind him but its light is giving a soft glow to the room and Keith's face. It's almost surreal, and for some reason it feels like a kind of important moment, but it's broken when a yawn comes up and threatens to split his jaw.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Keith blurts out, like he'd been holding it back for awhile.

Anderson frowns in puzzlement. "I'll be fine, I'm just tired…"

But Keith shakes his head. "No, I mean…" He stops, his brow furrowed, and Anderson thinks he looks unsure of himself. It's a surprise, because he hadn't thought Keith had that ability, and he doesn't like it at all.

Before he can think about it, Anderson reaches up to smooth away the pronounced crease between Keith's eyebrows and, like a button had been pushed, Keith instantly relaxes. The hand running through Anderson's hair comes up to grab Anderson's hand and weave their fingers together.

Anderson sucks in a sharp breath, but he doesn't move and Keith doesn't let go. It seems strange at that moment – Anderson is sure he's held hands with other people before, but he can't recall any of them. Can't recall that they felt this good and highly doubts that their fingers fit this perfectly in the spaces between his own. He would have remembered something like that.

Keith's voice finally breaks into his thoughts. "I meant...earlier, when you were telling me what happened today, it seemed like there was something else on your mind." He squeezes Anderson's hand. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I just want to make sure you're all right."

If Anderson had any shields up at that point, they would have been shattered. He can hear his heart pounding in his ears. Keith has been surprising him left and right tonight, and now he knows he really shouldn't be surprised at all. This part of Keith is just as natural as the part that calls people out on national television and tells the President to shut the hell up. And Anderson's just been shutting him out.

He must have been silent for a few seconds too long, because Keith moves to release Anderson's hand and says, as if he were embarrassed, "Right, well, I think it's high time for bed, so if you –"

"I miss my dad," Anderson blurts out.

Keith freezes, but re-tightens his grip on Anderson's hand. Anderson can feel his face heat up, because that really isn't how he wanted to say it. He turns his head to look up at the ceiling.

"I mean, I think about him sometimes. And…and I wonder if…" He stops there, not really sure how to explain it. He hadn't planned on explaining it at all.

Keith brushes his knuckles with a thumb. "If what?" he asks softly.

Anderson lets out a heavy breath. "If he'd be proud of me." He hates how small his voice gets, like he's still ten years old, being told that his father has passed away, but rest assured, Andy, he loved you very much. "And I can't help but think if he saw me today, when everything went wrong, he wouldn't have been proud of me at all."

It's kind of funny, really. Anderson remembers when he was about six years old and announced to his parents that he wanted to be a polar bear wrangler when he grew up. His mother had laughed and told him he could be whatever he wanted. His father had grinned and got down on his hands and knees, saying, "Well, then you should start practicing now." And he proceeded to chase little Anderson around the room, roaring and growling all the way. (Anderson had eventually stopped running and managed to crawl on his father's back, deciding that he'd much rather be a cowboy.)

"Well, I can't speak for him, so I won't. But I do know he'd be crazy not to be because…" Keith trails off there, choosing instead to stare down at their joined hands, like they could offer him the answers to the universe.

Now it's Anderson's turn to prompt Keith. "Because why?"

At that, Keith looks back up to look Anderson in the eye. "Because _I'm_ proud of you."

Anderson's jaw actually drops slightly at that admission. "You…you are?"

Keith gives him a wry smile. "I know sometimes I don't act like it, but I am. You've done good things, Andy. You _do_ good things. You didn't have any control over the crap that happened today. It wasn't because you're incompetent at what you do." There's another pause while Anderson lets that sink in. Keith continues, his voice slightly lower, "I do like you, Anderson, really like you, and you seem surprised by that. I want to keep you around, you know?"

That makes Anderson think of the Coke in the refrigerator, and how he's pretty sure it wasn't there before he started coming over. "That's why you keep cans of Coke in the fridge, isn't it?

Keith laughs, one of those deep belly laughs that Anderson loves so much. "If that's what it takes to keep you coming back…"

Anderson shakes his head with a chuckle, but then they both sober up, seeming to realize that they've reached a fairly important milestone in their relationship.

"It sucks, I know, but you can't judge yourself based on what you think someone else would think of you, especially since you'll never know for sure. Sometimes it's difficult enough to know what living people think. Do you…do you understand what I'm trying to say here?" That unsure look is back on Keith's face.

He blinks, because he _does_ understand, and the words he needs to say get stuck in his throat just like they always do when he isn't in front of a camera talking about a pain that isn't his own. So he works with what he has and pushed himself up to roughly press his mouth to Keith's because he needs Keith to understand that _he_ understands. He does it so quick he nearly misses completely, catching more cheek than mouth, but Keith picks up the slack, just like he's been doing all night.

It's just the dry catch of lips against lips, and Anderson still isn't sure that Keith gets it and he has to resist the urge to bring Keith's hand to his chest and press it against his heart, as if Keith could read heartbeats like a blind man reads Braille.

But then Keith pulls back so he can look Anderson in the eye. Anderson doesn't know when they became the kind of people who can communicate without saying a word, but he _knows_ , whether from instinct or logic or the look in Keith's eye, that Keith knows exactly what he's trying to say. He feels like that should unnerve him somehow, but it's really just comforting.

Keith gives him a small smile. "You have any plans tomorrow?"

Anderson shakes his head, even though he truly can't remember if he does or not. He does know he doesn't have anything work-related scheduled, so he's fine.

"Good." Keith squeezes his fingers and stands, pulling Anderson with him. "Let's go get some sleep."

And for once, Anderson knows he will.

END.


End file.
